


The Light You Left Behind

by Missgoldy



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst, Depression, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, Kylo Ren Redemption, Loneliness, Loss, Love, Post-Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker, Redeemed Ben Solo, Resurrection, The Force, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-02-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:22:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22601671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missgoldy/pseuds/Missgoldy
Summary: She hates showing weakness, hates grieving for a man she’s only ever fought with. Hates crying for a man she’s never slept with; only kissed, groggy and aching as he stole the breath from her lungs on that filthy, freezing battleground. Hates that Ben’s redemption was so fleeting, and that he didn’t live long enough to enjoy it...Written for the 2020 Chocolate Box Exchange
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo
Comments: 18
Kudos: 57
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	The Light You Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ambiguously](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ambiguously/gifts).



Tatooine drags forth memories that aren’t hers, echoes of moments, shrouded beneath a trembling, laser-thin membrane of deja-vu.

Standing here, her eyes scan the crumbling domes, long abandoned and eroded beyond recognition. She sees nothing but unrelenting sand, bleak and uninviting to her eyes. She senses the tarnished metal deep under her feet; buried beneath time and memory.

She hopes the weapons remain that way, their legacy deserving of a dignified retirement. The thought of untrained hands wielding them makes her sick to her stomach.

Rey stays for a while, exploring the remains of what is left of the Lars homestead, dragging herself through waist-high sand with a moderate amount of physical exertion. 

She collects things of interest, holding them up to the light and inspecting them carefully. Worthless items to a scrapper, yet important to _her._ Scavenging remains in her blood, but the financial windfall no longer takes priority.

Rey finds broken machinery, charred and beyond repair. She finds chipped tableware in what remains of the kitchen, and she pockets a twisted spoon, wondering if the utensil once passed Luke’s lips, when he was young and ideallic, rather than the dour, tortured man he would become, haunted by regret and loss.

The physical trinkets satisfy her in the short term, but still, Rey longs for something else.

She longs for some _one_ else, but disappointment follows her like a dark cloud.

* * *

Rey flicks a switch beside the monitor, and Finn’s worried face disappears from view.

“He likes you,” a deep voice rumbles, and Rey sighs, knowing who has arrived, unannounced, just as he often does.

“I know.”

“Quite unnatural thoughts,” he adds, with a hint of amusement. “Do you want me to enlighten —”

“No.”

A hint of a smile. “You’re allowed to live —“

“And you’re supposed to be dead,” she declares, slumping back in her seat. “Are you not expected to abide by a code of ethical decency? Poking around in his thoughts —"

“The man might as well have a sign flashing on his forehead —”

“Well, stop reading his mind, old man.”

“Earthly delights,” Master Luke muses. He’s seated in the co-pilots seat beside her, running his hands over the Falcon console fondly, transparent and emitting a warm light.

He glances at her curiously. “Where are you going?”

“Home,” she voices, but her heart tells her otherwise.

* * *

The drudgery of republic life frustrates her — the endless parties and bloated officials; diplomats and senators, swollen with pomp and ceremony. Many here are indulged; suffering from the perils of abundant wealth and an over-inflated sense of self.

She doesn’t belong here.

Raucous conversation goes on around her, banal and boring to her ears. Shrieks of laughter cause her skin to crawl, and she wonders if these events are meant to leave such a bitter taste in her mouth.

Rey sits, perched upon a ledge in an outside courtyard. Spiky foliage needle her back incessantly, and her legs dangle over the edge, her diminutive frame drawing appreciative glances she has no inclination to return.

A mug of cider is clutched within her hands. It tastes less like apples and more like battery acid, but it dulls the ache inside and quietens the restless voices in her head. She sips her cider quietly, observing the celebrations from afar, peering at the flyboys and wealthy aristocrats flirting with a detached curiosity.

“How are you?” a voice asks breathlessly, and Rey blinks in surprise, taking in the sight of Rose’s pink cheeks and unsteady demeanour. The girl slumps against the ledge beside her, batting away prickly leaves with a pained grunt.

Rey shrugs. “I don’t know,” she offers, deciding to be honest.

Rose gives her a sympathetic smile, clutching her hand and squeezing, and Rey squeezes her back.

“I think it will happen tonight,” Rose says hopefully, keeping one eye trained on a short, stocky, bearded man across the room.

”The engineer?”

Rose nods, and Rey sighs, assuming it probably _will_ happen, a fumbling and uncoordinated exchange in the dark, with an equal measure of post coital doubt and anxiety thrown in for good measure.

Rose is still talking, yet Rey finds herself wondering about _him_ , because there was nothing awkward about _Ben_.

There was power and brute strength, and a dogged determination. A fierce intelligence. His gaze never wavered, whether they were fighting or antagonising, or simply stuck with one another’s company, victims of the force-bond bestowed upon them.

She shivers, recalling the way Ben never broke eye contact, as if he were intent on seeing right through her. 

Rey often wondered if he had known her better than she knew herself.

It’s the last moments that cause the most grief, the memories that play over and over in her head, incessant and unrelenting.

The way he’d held her, right at the end, his arms clutching her in a panic, and that dazzling grin of sheer, unadulterated relief before he’d faded before her eyes. Rey had never seen him smile; and she mourned the cruel twist of fate — forever denied the chance to bask in another.

His sacrifice, the ultimate gift of life when it meant certain death, a consequence he should never have had to bear.

Rey assumed he would have remained here, doomed to wander the earth, tied inexplicitly to those he had formed a connection with. Just like Luke and his ancestors, and even like Leia, who also appears from time to time within her presence, quiet and watchful.

Worried.

She’d expected the same from _him_.

She’d expected a snide comment, announcing his arrival with his usual quiet indifference. Rey had waited, anticipating the verbal showdown with an intensity that surprised her.

But after all these months, Ben has yet to cross her path.

* * *

“You’re leaving.”

Finn stands in her doorway, leaning against the frame and peering around the room. He seems unsurprised.

“I don’t belong here,” she says stiffly, tossing her clothes into a bag. “It’s time to go.”

He steps inside and folds his arms, watching her cross the room, gathering her meagre possession.

She’d only spoken to Poe about her plans to leave, and the hackles rise on the back of her neck.

“How did you know?” she asks accusingly as she straightens; a pile of robes clutched within her hands. “Who told you —”

“No one told me,” he remarks, looking annoyed. “You’ve spent the past few months all miserable and hiding from everyone. It was only a matter of —"

“I have not —”

“Stay,” he says, a quiet plea. “We need you —”

“You don’t need me,” she assures him. “The First Order have been destroyed. The last of the officers were rounded up on —”

“We need you.”

“I don’t belong here,” she whispers, her eyes filling with tears and pissed off as all hell about it.

She hates showing weakness, hates grieving for a man she’s only ever fought with. Hates crying for a man she’s never slept with, only kissed; groggy and aching as he stole the breath from her lungs on that filthy, freezing battleground. Hates that Ben’s redemption was so fleeting, and that he didn’t live long enough to enjoy it.

She rubs her eyes with the back of her hand angrily, clenching her fingers into Finn’s shirt. “There’s nothing here for —”

“We’re here,” he assures her, moving forward and bundling her up in his arms. His fingers move through her hair, and she lets a long sigh fall against his neck. “Don’t leave.”

Rey sags in his arms, but the tears have stopped, and her resolve has strengthened. She’ll shed tears but she won’t cry.

“Don’t leave,” he repeats.

She promises to stay, but she doesn’t.

* * *

Rey travels, with no destination in mind, just exploring the systems and setting down wherever the force — and her will — lead her. After so many years stranded on Jakku, the universe is open to her, and she takes full advantage.

Distant settlements and slums. Busy, thriving colonies; a multicultural mix of inhabitants going about their daily business. Steaming cesspools of criminals and underworld figures, jostling for control over the population.

Rey passes through countless worlds, quiet and — for the most part — invisible. She’s seen when she wants to be seen, speaks when she chooses to. She ditches the bindings and rags somewhere between Coruscant and Corellia, replacing them with fine linens and gowns… nothing too fancy, but more feminine. She finally sheds the scavenger persona but faces yet another identity crisis, because she still doesn’t know who she is. Still doesn’t know who she wants to be.

Not a Jedi, not technically a Skywalker, despite having adopted the name vigorously these past few months, and she refuses to acknowledge the other dreadful heritage coursing through her veins, as tainted and insidious as the emperor himself.

Tonight, she sits at an outdoor table in a quiet cantina on Garel; dwelling on things, listening to the sound of the wildlife. The cantina’s only other customer sits slumped in his seat at the bar, his bald head cradled in his hands as a bug-eyed Trandoshan empties his pockets.

Rey's saber sits securely at her hip, but she won’t need it here.

It’s hot and humid. The hotel room is air conditioned, yet she doesn’t feel like returning for the night, content to sit and watch the world go by.

“Where are you going?”

Master Luke’s voice carries on the breeze, and she props her chin in her hands, blocking any attempts to seek an answer.

* * *

Bespin is the next stop, namely Cloud City; yet the dreamy, white-washed ambience brings little comfort. She explores the urban metropolis, unimpressed with the grandeur on display. She eventually takes lodging amongst the mining employees, those who are carving out a grim existence below the surface. Out of sight and out of mind — their efforts benefitting those who dwell literally above their heads.

Men, women and children; dirty, malnourished and most sporting the same look she knows so well, of grim resignation. They're decent, hard working people, and she enjoys their company, interested in their stories and their lives, united in a common bond of servitude and borderline slavery. They're friendly and welcoming to a point, but they don't know her. They don't understand her, not like _he_ did.

Her time is cut short anyway, courtesy of some bounty hunters and their not-so-secret investigations.

Rey is on her way again.

* * *

The smell of moisture, of soil and earth, of decaying shrubbery pressed beneath her bare feet. 

Forests and primitive ruins, jutting out from above the tree canopy. Birds, crickets and a gentle breeze rustling her hair, but otherwise there's peace and serenity, yet the silence _screams_ , shattering her ears with a shocking intensity. The restlessness builds, as does the frustration and the rage and the unfairness and _everything_. Knowing the path to the dark side begins with such thoughts, she can't help the downward slide.

 _He_ understood. He kept her sane, kept her rational, an odd sort of loyalty underpinned by a mutual, begrudging trust, built on shaky foundations.

He understood... and yet here she is.

Rey belongs to no one and nothing.

"Where are you going?"

Leia's voice, soft and comforting, filled with sadness and concern. Rey clenches her fist, her nails cutting into her skin until the blood oozes out in rivulets, tracking down her thin wrists. 

Just so she can feel something. 

Nothing and no one.

* * *

Each planet; each new cesspool blurs into the next. There's no inclination to return to her friends, just a steady, deep ache in the pit of her stomach.

Dry deserts. Pristine city-scapes, with towering apartments that stretch beyond the clouds above. Children dart and dodge between her feet, giggling. She stays long enough to eat, sleep, then she moves on, finding no peace, just a relentless burden. A heavy heart, knowing beyond all doubt that the one place that may draw forth comfort also deprived her of _him_.

A double-edged sword that she'll willingly impale herself upon.

* * *

Fissures and cracks are etched deep with the rock beneath her feet. She steps quickly over the blackened surface, wrapping her robes around her shoulders, shivering against the lightning strikes in the distance. Her eyes take time to acclimatise to the blinding white light that descends for a few moments after each crack disturbs the earth.

It’s cold, here. The atmosphere is charged, the hairs on her arms standing on end, the planet deadly quiet until the next sharp crack rents the air.

In the end, she couldn't make herself stay away.

Rey flees the living to forget — but ends up returning to Exogal, returning to the dead to remember.

It’s a stupid irony.

The low overhang of rock is in front of her, and she slows her approach, her fingers wrapping around her lightsaber, ready just in case any Sith lords are still in residence and demanding blood.

She clears the entrance and stays within the shadows, traversing the seemingly endless low walls until the walls suddenly open up, finding herself deep inside the grand hall of the fortress. The memories hit her like a tonne of bricks. Palpatine’s throne looms ahead, dark and undisturbed. The jagged points are garish and revolting, much like the man himself, her grandfather, purveyor of so much destruction and misery.

The puppet-master himself.

She closes her eyes, searching for signs of threat, reaching out and finding nothing. Ascending the ramp, Rey stands before the throne that represents all that she is, her unwanted identity, revoked and laid bare.

Nothing and no one.

The stone seat beckons, and Rey stares at it for a moment, before dropping down into it. Small and delicate, she's dwarfed by the obscene size yet feeling no pull to the dark side, no sudden propensity for violent ambition or mayhem. She curls up and sleeps for a while, feeling the restlessness and uncertainty slowly ebb from her body; this place of darkness and malice holding the most amount of comfort for her.

“You took your time.”

She stiffens, her eyes flying open, shrinking back against the throne, because she knows that voice, still hears it in her dreams, deep and rich, reverberating through her soul.

A shadow moves to her right, and her heart quickens. She clutches her saber tightly within her lap, her eyes moving frantically around the cavernous space.

“No homicidal whims or grand gestures of villainy, Rey?” An element of amusement tinges the words, spoken by someone unseen, yet she knows who it is, she feels it deep within her bones.

“Give me time,” she whispers.

He chuckles, the sound coming from right beside her, and she whips her head around but he’s already gone.

“Ben?” she whispers wonderingly. “Ben, please —”

"Queen," he says, reverent and admiring all at once, and a shiver runs through her. She feels a light touch on her shoulder. "Heir to the throne."

"I'm nothing," she whispers.

"You're everything."

And he’s there, on his knees before her, his head bowed and his eyes hidden beneath the thick black hair she barely got the chance to touch. Rey reaches out, expecting to touch nothing but air… and astonished to find warmth and solid mass beneath her hands.

“You’re here?” she says wonderingly, and he finally raises his face. They lock eyes, hot and searing, and his gaze never wavers, staring deep into her soul. He grins, and his face transforms, flashing that mega-watt grin, the one she never thought she'd see again.

He raises himself and grabs her by the waist, lifting her off the throne as if she weighs nothing. Pulling her down into his lap, he envelops her in his arms, cradling her close as she starts to cry, burying her face in his throat with a long sigh, her tears hot and wet against his skin.

“How are you here?”

“I’m bound to this place —” he says, his mouth moving hotly over her face, over her eyelids and nose. "Doomed to remain —"

“I don’t understand —”

“Sacrifice,” he says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “I can’t leave the boundaries. I can’t roam, not like the Jedi who fell before me.”

“I’m so sorry,” she sputters, tilting her cheek toward his hand as he wipes another tear away. “I never wanted this, I never planned —”

“This was my doing,” he says huskily. “My pride and my ambition. My parents. I caused all this. Fate was never letting me out of this alive, Rey. I had a penance to pay and I’m bound to it, now."

She drags her fingers through his hair, and he leans in, smashing his lips to hers, a long-awaited encore to the last time they were within one another's arms. Breathless, she utters a groan against his mouth, tossing her head back as she succumbs to his hands and mouth roaming her skin.

She feels so small against his muscular frame, so tiny and vulnerable, and the clarity descends, that she's indeed something to someone, the queen to his king; her body and her mind and her soul ready and willing to be possessed and owned...

And he does so.

He rips the clothes from her limbs, fabric tearing and nails scratching until she’s naked and writhing, her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, the ground cold and unforgiving beneath her.

Just as he was in life, he's brutal and forceful and unrelenting, and she loves it. He fucks her at the foot of the throne, pinning her down and driving into her hard, her legs splayed wide and her tendons screaming. Her nails tear his skin, drawing blood that should no longer flow through his veins, but it does. It hurts just as much as it feels good, and she sobs deliriously as he slams into her harder, again and again until she's screaming his name...

Wondering if this is indeed the penance they both need to pay.

She'll pay it gladly, a thousand times over.

And when it’s over, when they’re lying exhausted and spent in one another’s arms, a lone flower blooms outside the fortress, a beautiful, new addition to an otherwise bleak and harsh landscape.

It brings promise of life amidst the harsh reality of death.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh gosh, I hope you like it!


End file.
